The days erase themselves,
And the minutes are misspellings.
And the clock towers are peaks of minutes,
Dripping like honey trees.
I got bees on my tongue.
Already written upon my skin over and over again.
And the days,
And the days,
The days erase themselves,
And the minutes are misspellings.
And the clock towers are peaks of minutes,
Dripping like honey trees.
I got bees on my tongue.
Already written upon my skin over and over again.